Mix Our Blood
by HellzLittleAngel
Summary: Flashes from the night before run through my mind. Those touches, that laugh, the lingering hand... I stare at my face in the mirror, trying to keep from fainting in pure fear. Someone was in my room last night. Was that someone Walter Sullivan?
1. Chapter 1

Why am I still inhabiting this room?

I ask myself this question, almost in a daze, staring at the television. Flashes of color illuminate the room, but I'm not seeing any of it. Somewhere in the room, the uncaring spot in my mind dully notes the slow ticking of the clock by the TV. It's almost becoming annoying, but I pay no attention to the time. It must be around midnight. Maybe even later. And yet, with the small irritations probing my thoughts, the question stays solid like a statue in my head.

Why am I still a current resident in room 302?

Surely it's temporarily. I will be moving out soon... Soon. It's not like I can pack up and leave without so much as a goodbye. It's not that simple, but God I wish it was. If I leave- No. _When _I leave this apartment, I want to move out of the state. That, unfortunately, is going to require money, that of which I can't even scrap off the ground. Asides from that, the news says getting a place these days is a lot harder than it sounds. One empty room in an apartment – five people will be fighting over it. It's almost depressing. Leaving this room would do no good; I would probably have to live with my folks until further notice. My father is great and all, but my mother...

My eyes trail over to the laundry room. That could be another explanation. When Eileen's limp body was taken to St. Jerome's, I returned to my apartment room and almost had a heart attack. Of course, after I recovered, I stared at the bloody stuffed animal that once resided on Eileen's bed. Only later did Frank tell me my only friend wanted to give me her bunny, her words being, "A farewell present". I accepted it, but now I sort of wish I didn't. I have strange feelings that if I am to open that laundry room, that stuffed animal would be pointing at me with an accusing stance; its black-dotted eyes glaring into my soul, as if everything that happened was my fault.

It's not. That isn't going to stop that fake rabbit though.

Shivering, I shake my head. No. That... That man... He did that. I am certain it was his doing. Just like _everything _else...

The television shuts off. Everything goes silent, leaving me in the complete darkness.

I blink in surprise. I didn't turn it off.

Ngh... What the hell? Leaning my weight to the side, I reach into the cushion. Oh... Oh, thank God. I had been sitting on the remote... Breathing out the air I had been holding, I let the device fall on the coffee table. For a moment there, I almost thought the television was possessed like before... That would've been a nightmare. More than a nightmare. A complete terror.

Shaking my head, I allot my mind onto more important matters. Like resting. It's evident I haven't a clue what time it is, but whatever numbers it happens to be on, I'm tired. Heaving myself onto my feet, I turn off any remaining lights in my place and high-tail it to bed.

Snuggling under the cold comforters, I curl up into a ball. I've grown accustom to sleeping this way; it's comfortable, and I guess I feel a little more safer. Tucking my head almost all the way under the blankets, I rest my wary eyes.

11121211211112121121

_Thump... Thump... Thump..._

Mm... What's that?

_Thump... Thump... Thump..._

Why does it sounds closer? Whatever... My dream is still within my grasp...

Half conscious, I can feel the warm sheets being tugged from my grip, finally lying still around my hips. Rough, freezing fingers dance up my spine, under my shirt. I shiver and fidget a little, lying on my back so those stupid hands would stop bothering me. It works, and I almost want to smile. I mean, I _would've, _if not for my shirt rising up. Cool air hits my warmed stomach, and I whimper slightly, adjusting to the feeling.

A faint chuckle, and something scratchy against my lower stomach, bordering my hips.

After a few seconds, a quiet pop of a cap being placed back on a marker echoes in the silence, and the blanket once against draping over me. I immediately wrap my arms around the cloth, burying my face against the pillow. Something doesn't feel right... I should open my eyes and make sure. But that could result in no sleep, so I don't think I'm going to take that risk.

Hands ghost over my back, as if tucking the blankets tight against my body. I squirm a little when those hands brush against my ass.

Another, more loud chuckle.

Those hands are gone, and as I listen to strange thumps slowly fade off, realization edges against my sleepiness.

Someone was in my room.

11121211211112121121

The discomfort of the phone ringing is what opens my eyes.

Pressing my face into the pillow, I blindly reach out. Banging my finger against the corner of the dresser, I cry out, retreating my hands. Wonderful. It's so lovely to wake up to the feeling of pain.

Peeking one eye open, I grab the phone off the receiver and practically snarl in a sleepy tone. "Hello?"

"_Henry? This-This is Henry?"_

I blink, raising my head. "Yeah... Who is this?"

A small, strained laugh on the end of the line. _"It's James."_ Once those words are spoken, my jaw drops.

"J-James?" I squeak. "James... Sunderland? God, where've you been?"

"_I'm sorry... I had to leave unexpectedly for a little bit... But I'm coming back. I'm on the subway-"_ Images of those demon dogs rush through my mind. _"-right now. I heard you're in Ashfield now... Do you mind if I visit?"_

"Not at all. Do you have a place of your own?"

"_Ah... Uh..."_

Smiling a little, mostly from the surprise phone call, I give off the slightest noise of a laugh, "I'll ask you that when you get here. You remember that apartment complex your father got?"

"_Yeah..."_

"I'm room 302."

"_Really? Alright... I think I'll be there in an hour or so, as long as I don't get lost." _Another strained laugh. He sounds exhausted.

"See you then." I hang up, a smile still playing on my lips. James... It's been so long since I've spoken to him. Feels like years. Months ago he disappeared. His house still possessed all of his belongings, and yet all that seemed missing was his car, his wallet, and a picture of his wife. I remember trying to comfort Frank in my own way, which consisted of listening to the old man while all I felt comfortable doing was giving in my two cents every now and then to make sure he didn't think I wasn't listening.

Hopping out of bed, I walk across the hall and into the bathroom. I wonder if James will be hungry. Should I attempt to make a decent breakfast? I still recall his favorite dish from earlier years – I wonder if it's the same.

Hopeful, I tug my shirt off and begin tempering with the nozzle in the shower. Letting the water warm up, I walk in front of the sink, my thoughts wandering off to my best friend. He doesn't have a place to stay, it sounds like. Maybe the super will suggest that blonde to take the room next to mine. We could catch up on stuff... Would I be able to tell him all that's happened a week ago? Could I? He knows I'm not much of a kidder, talking about death... Would he believe me? I suppose he could-

My blood runs cold. I pale, my eyes wide and locked on my stomach. Fear clenches my nerves, and with quivering hands, I run a hesitant finger over my hip, rising up to my lower stomach. Written in Sharpie, the numbers practically pierce me.

**2 1 1 2 1 21/21**

A scream rises up, but I swallow it down, settling for giving the edge of the counter a death grip. This isn't real...

Flashes from the night before run through my mind. Those touches, that laugh, the lingering hand...

I stare at my face in the mirror, trying to keep from fainting in pure fear. All of my color is gone, and for a second, I almost look like I'm making a funny face... But those numbers at the bottom of the mirror keep me from looking away.

Someone was in my room last night.

Was that someone... Was that someone Walter Sullivan?

No, that can't be. I killed that madman. He can't still be up walking around. I had watched bullets fly through his flesh and embed into his flesh. I witnessed his own blood splattering the white pavement in front of me. His body had lied limp in silence, and I even lodged a few more unnecessary bullets through his cranium and chest. He's dead.

But who else could've written this?

I haven't told a single soul about that event. Everybody who's been involved with the ritual is dead, all except for me. Even if some idiot who's in way over his head tries to re-create everything Sullivan invented, that idiot wouldn't know who I am.

Gaining my composure, I take small steps towards the shower and turn the water off. I don't think I can take a shower, more or less function without having my eyes lower to the numbers. Trembling, I pick up my shirt and slip it back on, walking right out of the bathroom without thinking to turn off the lights. My heart beats against my chest as I turn the corner, my eyes flying to the door.

No trace of chains. I stare in surprise and shock. For an odd reason, I expected the door to be locked tight, those bloodied words on my door "warning" me not to leave. I imagined the dead cat in my fridge would start up again, and my television would scream with static.

It's completely silent.

Running twitchy fingers through my hair, I face the living room, striding towards the windows when a presence stops me dead in my tracks. My lungs tighten and release, over and over, as if breathing is terribly hard. It is, I have to admit. I stare in shock. Not in pure fear, but in confusion.

Little Walter stares back, holding his hand up to wave at me. "Hi Henry."

"W...Walter?"

"Uh-huh." Jumping off the couch, as if standing on one is normal, the little boy walks towards me and grabs my hand. "I'm hungry."

Blinking in puzzlement, I slowly kneel down next to him, eye-level with the slight brunette. "You're... hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Uh... Al-Alright... Um... Do you want some eggs?"

With that beaming face looking at me, I know I said the right thing. Standing back up, I reluctantly walk into the kitchen and pull out some eggs. In the corner of my eye, I can see little Walter crawl up into one of the high chairs and tap his fingernails against the counter. "Hey, Walter?" I say after a while, the sizzling of the yolk hitting the fried up pan. He hums in response, and when I glance back, I can see him doodling with a stray pen and paper. "How did you get into my apartment?"

Finally those light green eyes gaze up. He smiles. "Big Walter let me in."

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><p><strong>AN: :C Yes, I know it's not well written. **

**Welp, my first Henry/Walter fanfic. Took me four days to alter it to this from the original draft. **

**Should I continue with this or hang my head in shame? :) **


	2. Chapter 2

Choking on my own spit, I stare wide-eyed at the calm boy; eggs completely leaving my train of thought. "B-Big Walter l-let you in?"

"Yeah, I've been here all night."

Okay, Henry. Get a hold of yourself. Calm down, calm down – that murderer isn't here. He obviously didn't care enough to put chains on the doors, so maybe... Maybe he wants me to escape? No, that doesn't make sense... But... God. Last night really did happen. It really was _him _that wrote on my stomach. A _killer _had _touched me_... Alright, relax. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe-

"Do you have any games?"

I blink, falling out of my fearful stupor. "Uh... No, not really..." Should I kick the kid out? It doesn't seem right... It feels like I'm babysitting the poor boy. He didn't really have a choice, did he? That horrible man probably had thrown his child self in without so much as a word. I can't really kick the child out... Even if Walter might be using his younger self to waltz right on in.

"What do you do for fun, then?"

Fun? Such a foreign word... I haven't had "fun" in a long time. Before any of these insane events happened, my routine could be described as dull. It's not even worth going back to, though I do miss waking up in the mornings and taking short walks to Silent Hill. I'd take pictures, mostly of the catholic church, and if I was lucky, within the fog, someone would walk by. Their shadows crept the hell out of me after I looked back at the pictures, but I kept them. Creepy brought in money, so I was more than willingly to walk in a cave to take a snapshot of whatever looked spooky.

Not much of a social life. My friends all abandoned me, some by will and others by force. Most by will. It's not that I wasn't a fun person, it was just... I wasn't really much of a fun person. Okay, I admit, I was a little dull, with my personality always being kept in, but it wasn't like I wasn't trying. Conversations came hard for me. I always searched my mind for a conversation starter, but nothing would ever scratch up. Maybe I'm naturally a lonely, awkward person, and I will be for the rest of my life.

My father called in every once in a while to make sure I was alive and walking around, not a rotting corpse in a seat, waiting for my demise. Besides that, and maybe a small phone call to order pizza, that phone stayed on the hook all two years. The door only opened twice every two days – I made sure to get enough pictures to last me a week, but taking a stroll all alone did me some good. Food shopping was even a struggle, mainly from the fact that a lot of people at the counter like to strike up conversations, that of which was why I hated going out for groceries.

Not much "fun".

It wasn't like I was throwing myself out there, anyway.

"Um..." Lifting a plate from the cupboard, I scrape the scrambled eggs onto it, revealing as little emotion as I can. "Not much, to be honest." Setting bread into the toaster, I reach for more eggs. My stomach is growling the longer I take in the scent of food. Guess my appetite crawled back.

"Oh... Oh! I forgot to tell you! Walter said he'd be stopping by at noon."

Well, forget eating.

I freeze in my tracks. "...N-Noon?" In the corner of my eye, I can see the smaller version of the serial killer nod, and with that in mind, I set the carton of eggs on the counter. Trying to act as casual as possible, I gaze up at the clock, all blood and color in my face turning snow white. Grasping onto the counter to keep from collapsing, I keep my eyes fixed on the time. Eleven fifty-five. In _five minutes _that... _monster _will be tracking me here. He's going to finish what he's started, just to bring his stupid mother back. But... I won't go down without a fight. I'm not going to stand here and wait for him to chop off my head.

"Where are you going?" Little Walter questions, staring at me as I grab my keys from the counter. Placing the toast with the rest of the food, I settle the plate in front of the boy.

"No where. Uh, well, actually, I hate to go downstairs to, ah, talk with the super. You'll be alright by yourself here, won't you?" The kid watches me inch towards the door with sullen eyes and nods, lowering his gaze to his food. A small tug at my heart almost convinces me to stay, but the ticking of the clock reminds me that would be a _fatal _mistake. Managing to step outside into the hallway, I close the door, lock it, and give the hall a quick sweep with my eyes.

Nobody is in the corridor. I would think not – this place hasn't been the most famous live-in. I've actually witnessed parents yanking their kids out of school so they could pack and get the hell out. Lonely singles like me have been especially on edge, but most of us seem to stay for the sake of Frank. With business flying right out the window, he's at the point where he'll promise low rent to keep his apartment going. It's almost pathetic.

Hurrying down the hallway, I turn the corner, feeling a slight déjà vu power against my senses. I can almost see the fleshy, bloodied walls, promising absolutely no escape from that Hell. Behind those double doors could be unnaturally tall nurses, wielding scalpels and golf clubs. Maybe I would look back and see Eileen, in terrible shape, trying in desperate attempts to keep up. The dogs would be following up, barking and snarling, running past and ignoring her, going straight for my legs and torso. Hell, even a ghoul could be tracking us down, accomplishing its invisible list of things to do – checking off the line and going for the next: Making my life a living nightmare.

Sighing, shaking my head, I turn the knob and yank the doors open. Strange. I can't hear the usual hotel music playing downstairs-

My eyes widen. Any thought processing in my head has suddenly vanished, leaving me in a blank state of mind.

His greasy blond hair creates a barrier of shadows over his face, keeping me from seeing his eyes, though I don't think I can bear to look at those poisonous green orbs. The _same exact _clothes I killed him in are still being worn, the light blue fading darker and darker every time I see him. Dried blood clings to both his skin and the coat, and maybe even some splatter on the top of those dirty-blonde strands. One hand reveals a chainsaw, that _damn _chainsaw that I feared all through the woods, while the other loosely holds a pistol, his arm swinging a little as if it's a toy gun. The man sends me a light smirk. "Henry..."

Back away. Back the _hell _away.

Taking a few steps backwards, I squeeze the keys tight in my hands and twist around, dashing back across the corridor. The man at the double doors laughs, that same laugh that still haunts my dreams, and his calm footsteps advance towards me. "Henry, Henry, Henry... You can't run forever."

_Yeah, but I can try, _I think, switching my gaze towards the end of the hallway. Dead end. Taking a sharp left, I barge into my own apartment room and slam the door. Little Walter squeaks, still sitting in the same place I left him in, but I ignore his watchful eyes and pull the storage bin lid up. It creaks from old age – I'm surprised it opens at all. After all, I have owned this bin since I was eight...

Shaking the trailing thought out of my head, my fingers grasp onto the steel pipe. I never actually thought to wash it, and now I wish I had. The demon blood encased on it is disgusting enough, but the dead bugs warped into it is just plain sick. Shivering, I stand, hearing the all too familiar knocks on the door. "Henry... Henry..." The killer mocks from the outside, repeating my name like a mantra. "Open up, my dear Henry..."

A small bubbling fear pops in my stomach. I'm not going to be able to hold off Walter that long. I was lucky enough to bring him down in that battle. But here... He _came back_. This could be like the other "worlds" I went off to. I could hold him down, and he would fall. I would go into another area, and there he is again – firing his bullets into my flesh or revving that chainsaw in my ear. I'm not Superman. I need a plan.

The doorknob jiggles, causing me to catch my breath. Walking closer towards the door, I hold the pipe up, waiting in anticipation for the murderer to fall in my trap. The door pushes open, only a little, and to my surprise it closes up again. Confusion etches into my features, and as I lean against the thin wood to look through the peephole, I can only catch the smallest hint of Walter walking away. What... the hell?

"H-Henry?"

Glancing over my shoulder, I spot the small boy jumping off from the chair with a paper in his hand. "Henry, I made you a picture." Handing me the white sheet, his eyes study mine critically, as if one bad emotion will ruin him.

I can easily spy myself and the murderer whom was just outside my door holding hands. Smiley faces are drawn on both of us, while Walter is holding hands with little Walter. Next to him is a... girl. A girl I've never seen in my life. Wearing a dress and a pony tail, she grins in almost a sadistic manner. Next to her is a much taller man, hand in hand with a... thing. A pyramid is in place of a head, while the body is much more "built" than the other stick figures. Above all of us, a word obviously written in a child's signature hangs from the sky. _"Paradice."_

Kneeling down, I point to the stick figure next to me. "Is that the older Walter?"

"Yeah. He made you happy so he was happy too." The boy explains, "That's me, and next to me is Laura."

"Who's Laura?"

Little Walter goes on, as if I never questioned anything, "Next to Laura is James-"

"How do you know James?" I ask, my voice taking on a more defensive tone. The boy lifts his gaze to mine, a small spark of fear in his eyes.

"B-Big Walter told me..."

I stare at him. "He... told you?" How in the hell does that bastard know who James is? "I'm sorry... Go on."

"Anyway, that's James. He's not smiling because Walter told me he never smiles. And next to James is..." His eyebrows furrow up in frustration, "I don't really know, but big Walter said he was very important. We're all in here, with Mom. I heard him talking about something called Paradise, and how he really wants it, so I think being with Mom would be Paradise. Do you like it?"

Despite my new fear and everlasting confusion, I manage a small smile. "I love it."

The boy grins, "Are you going to hang it up?"

Shaking my head, I speak before his face can fall in sadness, "No, but I'm going to keep it with me, so I can look at it while I'm out. Maybe I can show Frank how artistic this is." Or I can use this as proof to ask how in the _hell _that goddamn _murderer _knows about James. The little kid's face once again breaks into a smile, and I'm caught off guard when he hugs me.

"I like you a lot, Henry. And Walter does too..." He yawns, "I'm tired." Closing his eyes, I stay completely still as he begins to slump against me, and a few minutes later a soft snore. Pulling the boy into my arms, I straighten up and walk into my room. Tucking him in and leaving the room just as quietly, I stray one more glance at the picture.

Now, to deal with that bastard.

Picking up the forgotten pipe on the ground, I open the door and step out into the hall. It's unnaturally quiet. I can't even hear the blare of the televisions going on in the other rooms. No muffled chatter. Not even a single footstep. It's as though I'm the last soul in this complex. Shivering at the thought, I take not two steps before something collides into the back of my head.

"Ah! F-Fuck..!" I whimper, falling forward and barely catching the wall. A small trickle of blood streams down the back of my neck, and as I narrow my eyes behind me, I can see blonde. "...Walter."

"You remember me! That's good. I wouldn't know what to do if you had forgotten all about me." The fake happiness in the man's voice makes me sick. His curled lips taunt me, and as he waves the pistol, his footsteps trail towards me. "I've missed you, Henry. So much. Have you missed me?" I can't will myself to move when he finally stands in front of me, too close, invading my personal space. Intimidating, I stare up at his tall figure, almost considering pushing him off and fleeing. I _almost. _

"How do you know James?" I blurt out instead, glaring at those sharp green eyes. The man seems startled by the question, not expecting it.

"James... I have never heard of a James."

"You liar." I grit my teeth, holding up the paper little Walter had made, "Your child self told me you told him about James. How in the hell do you know him?" The tall blonde takes the paper from my hands and glances down at it. A scowl appears on his face.

"I've never heard of a James in my life."

This man is impossible. I snatch the drawing from his grimy fingers and stuff it in my pocket. "I want an answer."

The serial killer raises an eyebrow, his signature smirk slowly fading back in. Cocking the gun, I freeze as the cold steel presses against the side of my head. The small fear once warning me earlier comes back, much larger and powerful. "I don't care what you want. It's what Mother wants. What _I _want. And what I want is..." Leaning close, the man uses his free hand to rest on my chest, a different emotion hugs his gaze. I blink with wide, owlish eyes, my breath caught in my throat. What in the hell is he doing? Smirking, the man presses his lips lightly on my cheek, kissing up to my ear. "What I want," He repeats in a whisper against my ear, "is you. Dead."

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><p><strong>AN: ; A ; Holy shit. I actually finished this chapter. **

**It's evident I can't write suspense for my life. So please, don't hesitate to slam a steel pipe into the back of my head and drag my dead body off to the graveyard. :D**

**On a little side-note, I don't want any of you to think I'm rude by not replying to your reviews. I love all of your feedback, it's just I'm not very good at the whole, "replying" thing. ; ~ ; Don't take it personally, please. I thank all of you for your help and thoughts. Point out mistakes, please - I'll be happy to go back and fix some stuff. :)**

**'Till then, my pretties~ -hops on broom and flies away across the moon- **


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